


I'm Sorry

by chiquislover25



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anger, Betrayal, Dark Jon Snow, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Healing, F/M, Hurt, I hate it too but this just happened, I once swore not to hurt baby but here I am, I'm Sorry, Miscarriage, Poisoning, RIP Boat Baby, Revenge, Season 8
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:14:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27869790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiquislover25/pseuds/chiquislover25
Summary: When Rhaegal arrived he knew something bad had happened. What he never expected was to find he had lost something he had never thought or believed he would have, something that was part of him and part of the woman he loved. Their child. Now he will make everyone pay for hurting him, for hurting his love, and for taking the most precious thing they could have had.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 356
Kudos: 505





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Everyone. 
> 
> I debated whether or not to post this given the sensitive topic and the fact that we as a fandom, especially us that ship Jon and Daenerys, are still healing and do not need reminders of what might have been or of sadder possibilities. However, this story came to be. 
> 
> I have never gone through the experience of a miscarriage but I watched my mom go through five of them, one of which was caused by some malpractice from her doctor. Recently I have seen more and more stories of people finally discussing this issue and this story came from that and from my need to deal with this topic that I have never truly processed or spoken about with my mom. I swore once never to harm boat baby but this happened. I planned to possibly write more, to have a darker Jon, finally using this anger and emotions and being a Targaryen and seeking revenge. I still have to write that, consider it even but I would like some opinions before I continue something like this.
> 
> I know this will not be for everyone and will keep going with updating my other stories soon.

He had felt something was wrong.

Rhaegal arriving confirmed it. 

There had been no hesitation as he climbed the dragon, ignoring the questions Davos and others were asking and flew away towards Dragonstone.

In less than an hour, he lands on the cliffs, running towards the castle, rattled by the fact that no one had realized his arrival. He asks for Tyrion or Varys and those names seem to only anger the guards as he makes his way to the Queen’s quarters, causing his dread to worsen.

It is not until he finds a distraught Missandei at the end of the hall from Daenerys’s room that he is finally told what occurred.

Poison. Varys. Tyrion.

“I am so sorry, Lord Snow,” she sobs, unable to say more.

He runs towards the quarters, needing to know…

The maester exits the room as he arrives.

“The Queen?” he asks, desperate for an answer.

There is nothing but sadness on the man’s face as he releases a resigned sigh.

“Will survive. The child, however…it was too much poison…”

He freezes.

“W…what child?” he stammers out, his mind unwilling to understand what the maester is saying.

Even more, sadness seems to consume the man.

“The Queen was expecting, five moons along. I tried my best but I could not save the child,” the man reveals, causing his entire world to collapse.

A child… their child…. she had been… she never told him… 

Of course, she had not, he had pushed her away, made her believe he no longer loved her with his constant rejection. Why would she share this with him?

And now their child was…

“She wished to hold the child; I could not deny her…”

He pushes past the maester and as soon as he does, he feels a million daggers sinking into his flesh. Just as the maester said she is in her bed weeping uncontrollably while holding a small bundle in her arms. She looks up briefly and the pain and sorrow in her eyes break him further.

She doesn’t say a word, her sobs being the only sounds filling the room as he makes his way towards her. With each step, he feels his legs threatening to give out with pure grief until they finally do at her bedside.

“I couldn’t… not again…. I needed…” she sobs trying to justify herself.

He understands. She had lost a child before, never got the opportunity to hold him, and that had been the biggest regret in her life. He takes a chance at climbing into the bed with her, wrapping his arm around her and he feels her collapse into his embrace.

“I'm sorry, I'm sorry…” she sobs and he holds her tighter, rocking her body in an attempt to calm her.

“It is not your fault, Dany. It is not your fault….” he says.

Of course, it is not her fault. It is his. He’s the one who told Sansa. He is the one who left her alone. It is his fault. It’s his fault she was poisoned. It’s his fault she is now cradling their dead child.

Their child.

He finally decides to look down to see what she is holding. 

The sight breaks what remains of his heart.

He sees the smallest babe he had ever seen, not much bigger than his hand. A boy. A son. The faintest of dark hair covered his head.

_He had my hair…_

His hand trembles as he reaches down to softly caressing the cheek of the babe, his eyesight quickly becoming blurry. 

His son.

“Daeron,” he hears Dany sob out. “His name was to be Daeron.”

He releases a sob of his own as he recalls mentioning to her at one point during their time on the boat that Daeron Targaryen had been one of his favorites and that he pretended to be him while playing with his brother Robb.

“It was perfect,” he says to her.

He holds her tighter with one arm while moving his other beneath their child holding him together with Dany. Her head leans against him and he cannot stop himself from thinking what might have been.

They simply sit there in their grief for what seems hours until both Missandei and the maester enter the room.

“Your Grace,” the maester says in the softest voice he can. “We must… it is necessary to prepare the body…”

He understands and he feels Daenerys ready to collapse once again.

“No please, no,” she sobs. He tries his best to keep himself together, turning slightly to look directly into her eyes.

“I will do it Dany. I will not leave his side, he will never be alone, I will hold him until it is time to bring him back to you. I will take care of him, I swear it,” he vows hoping she believes him.

It takes a moment, and it kills him to see her distrust, her struggle to believe him.

“I won’t fail again.”

Her eyes water before they close, and she finally nods in consent. She places one last kiss upon their son’s brow before handing him over to him. He looks towards Missandei and she thankfully understands what he is asking. She comes quickly to their side taking his place next to Daenerys and wraps her arms around their Queen. As he stands up, he sees Daenerys break once again and he tries to keep strong as he follows the master out of the room, his love’s cries ringing in his ears and haunting him forever.

When he enters the maester’s office, he follows his instructions, never one letting go of the little body in his arms.

“Maester, does Dragonstone have a crypt? Somewhere we can lay him to rest?” he asks, his voice trembling.

“No, my Lord, the Targaryens would burn their dead before placing the ashes in the Sept Baelor,” the master answers, his sadness in his voice.

He nods, it makes sense when he thinks about it. What else would their family do but burn their bodies?

_Their family._

Is that the first time he has considered himself a Targaryen? Acknowledged that they share the same blood?

That does not matter now.

“Maester, could you have a pyre prepared please?” he asks.

“Of course, my lord,” the man says and before he leaves the room, he turns to him one last time. “I am sorry for your loss my lord.”

He nods, holding back for a moment more until he is alone. And as he sits alone with the body of his child, he can no longer hold back.

“I’m sorry, my boy, I am so sorry,” he sobs. “I failed you, I failed your mother. I am so sorry.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Thank you all so much for your support of this story. It truly surprised me how much you all appreciated it and how it moved so many of you. Thank you for sharing your stories and leaving comments, they truly moved me and have helped me write this new chapter. 
> 
> This story and the reaction of some of the characters will be based both on how I believe these characters would behave but also the ways I saw my parents act both after the miscarriages they suffered and when my brother fell down a dark path and it appeared he was lost to us for a while. They were the hardest times for their marriage and they somehow made it out of it. I want you all to keep that in mind while reading this story and this next chapter, things are going to be said, our favorite characters are going to hurt one another but at the end of it they will be together and be happy, it might just take a while. 
> 
> I am also going to see if I can focus on the 7 steps of grief, showing the different aspects of them and how every person takes a different path than another, how some steps will be taken and shown while others are not, and how even while making progress there might be some regression into certain steps. 
> 
> Here in this chapter, we are going to see anger along with pain and guilt. It will be Jon's POV because he has always been easier for me to write but if you all want, I might consider writing a few from Dany's POV as well. Let me know and thank you once again for reading.

He has felt loss before. He remembers the pain he felt when he got the news of Ned Stark’s death, of Robb’s death and when he watched Rickon be shot with arrows by Ramsay. He even remembers the loss of Ygritte, whom although he never truly loved, he had learned to care for.

But all that pain paled compared to what he felt watching Daenerys place their child’s body onto the pyre.

The sun had begun to set by the time he had brought the body back to Daenerys. She was dressed in all black, her hair done in the simplest braid he has ever seen on her. Her eyes were red and swollen and they had filled with tears as soon as she received their child again.

He hadn’t dared to touch her as they made their way towards the beach, Missandei thankfully being the one at her side. The maester was there waiting for them, along with Unsullied and Dothraki. He is surprised to see Der Davos there as well, most likely having followed his abrupt departure. The look of shock, followed by pity and sympathy makes it all more real, instead of the nightmare he was desperately trying to convince himself this entire day had been.

The ground shakes as both dragons land. Drogon immediately wraps himself around Daenerys, shielding her and the little body on the pyre. Rhaegal seems to debate what to do, whether to wrap himself around his mother or him.

_Father, Mother, Little Brother…_

_“They are not beasts; they are my children…”_

He had not understood what those words had meant until he felt Rhaegal’s thoughts and emotions. To them Daenerys was their mother, he had somehow become their father, and they had viewed the babe growing in their mother’s womb as their sibling, a sibling that was going to help fill the emptiness Viserion had left behind.

He does his best to hold back a sob and helps make the dragon’s decision easier by stepping closer to the pyre and allowing Rhaegal to wrap around him and Dany. He remains silent listening to Dany whisper unknown words to their babe. It is until he begins to struggle to see due to the lack of light that he approaches her.

“It is time, Dany,” he says. She seems to want to refuse to fight against it, but just as soon as that fire appears it is extinguished, leaving not a fierce Dragon Queen but a dejected and despondent young woman.

He steps forward, placing a final kiss on the babe’s head and whispering his final vow to him.

“I promise to avenge you, lad. To never let your mother suffer again. I love you my son and I always will.”

He steps away, the dragons allowing Grey Worm to approach them with a torch which he hands to Dany. Her hand trembles and she is unable to move, her eyes filling with tears and her knees threatening to give out. He walks towards her, placing one arm around her, the other wrapping his hand on top of hers on the torch, and lends them both to the pyre.

“Together,” he says, unknowingly to her, vowing to be at her side from now.

“T… together,” she repeats and they both lower the torch to burn their son’s remains. They step back, towards where the others stand, letting each other go, engulfed in grief and wishing to join their child within the flames.

As they watch the flames, the air filled with sad dragon songs, he feels a hand touching his seeming to be begging for permission. He moves to interlace their fingers and he feels her squeeze his hand as hard as she can and he squeezes back as well. It is the first time she had sought out his touch, some comfort from him and he would be an idiot to deny it from her.

So there they stand holding hands watching as part of them burns and dies in the flames. The ashes are collected once the fire dies out and given to Daenerys who, after sparing him one final look, leaves the beach with her people.

He stays behind a moment more, staring at the black spot on the ground. He feels a hand that is missing some fingers rest on this shoulder.

“I am sorry for your loss, lad,” Davos says.

“They poisoned her, Davos. Varys, Tyrion, they poisoned her and they killed our child,” he says unfeeling numb.

“But why? She was their Queen, why would they try to poison her?”

He suspects why. He knows why. He has yet to speak to either man down in the dungeons but something in him knows why they did it.

“Because of me,” he answers, feeling anger begin to engulf his body.

“What?”

He doesn’t say another word, the anger and hatred coursing through his veins, not allowing him to do anything but find those responsible for what has occurred. He faintly hears his name being called out and vaguely recalls asking which way the cells were. The Unsullied do not question him as they open the door and he grabs the first person he finds.

“Why?! Why damn it?!” he yells, shaking the small body.

“I did not know! I did not know about the babe, Jon” the Lannister stutters out.

“But you tried to kill her! Why?!” he yells refusing to let the man, go.

“Varys. I did not think telling him about you…”

“Who told you?” he growls, the imp looks down. “Who told you?!”

“S…Sansa,” he answers, shoving the man to the ground.

He feels the cold steel of betrayal for what he already assumed his sister had done but hearing it confirmed digs the betrayal deeper. But right now his rage, his anger, his pain holds the reigns of his body, leading him and telling him what to do. He does not know at what point he left Tyrion’s cell and entered Varys’s or when he grabbed the man. It is not until he begins to feel blood on his hands that he realizes he is beating him to death, and yet he does not want to stop.

Blood. Anger. Fire.

Hurt. Hurt him.

_The little body in his arms. The aroma of burning remains._

Make him pay.

_The sound of her cries. The look in her eyes._

Kill him.

Arms grab onto him pulling him away.

“Let me go! Let me kill him!” he hears his voice yell.

He manages to fight against the arms holding him at first, lunging a the bloodied, unconscious mand but once again is by stronger arms.

Suddenly he is no longer in his body.

He is surrounded by snow, nothing looking familiar.

_South, must go South. Find him. Escape pain._

For who knows who long the same thought goes through his head as he walks and walks until he arrives at a familiar large door.

_The Wall. Castle Black. Go South. Go South._

He finds his friend, the large red-headed man. When he looks at him and goes towards him he kneels staring straight into his eyes.

“Ghost? Are you alright?”

He sits up gasping for breath, clutching at this chest. He feels the scars and he knows he is back in his body. He feels a pain in his chest and he tries desperately to remove the dagger he is sure is in his heart, only to find that there is nothing there, only to find the pain is somehow worse than what he remembers. He clutches his chest feeling the pain once again engulf him.

“It won’t go away,” a voice says startling him.

He turns and he sees Daenerys staring out a window towards the sea.

“The pain will not go away, the feeling that you are missing something, that a part of you has died, that there is a fist or a dagger constantly crushing your heart…” she says in a despondent voice. “It never went away with Rhaego, I doubt this one will be different.”

“Dany…,” he tries to speak, but she seems to ignore him.

“From what Davos told me, you must have escaped it at least for the past few days. Some of us are not so lucky,” she says, still not turning to look at him.

“Dany, please…” he begs, trying to get her to look at him.

Her body immediately tenses, and she finally turns to look at him.

“Please? Please!” she exclaims. “Please is what I begged you at Winterfell! Please is what I said when I told you not to tell your sister! I knew what was at risk! I understood what this would do!” her voice begins to crack as her eyes fill with tears. “I told you it would destroy us, but I was wrong. It destroyed me, it destroyed my family, my… my babe.”

She closes her eyes tears pouring down her face. He gets out of the bed, making his way towards her. She flinches at his touch, but he presses on, holding her face in his hands, making her look at him.

“He was mine too, Dany. I prayed to the gods every day on that boat for him to exist. I wanted him. I loved him. I would have done anything to keep him and you save had I known,” he says his voice full of emotion.

“And yet you didn’t,” she says coldly, and he cannot stop himself from grimacing. “It is because of you, your sister, and the two prisoners in the cells that he is dead. It is because you could not stay quiet…”

“I did not think this would happen!” he exclaims, cutting her off.

“It does not matter what you thought! The only thing that matters is that my son is dead. And the only comfort I have right now is knowing that for the rest of your life, Lord Snow you will have to live with the fact that you helped kill your own child,” she says with hatred and pain in her voice.

She steps away from him, walking out of the room and leaving him frozen, her words destroying what remained of himself, of Jon Snow.

Anger. Pain. Loss.

He yells as loud as he can and makes sure to destroy everything in the room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I would once again like to thank you all for reading this story and all the comments you all leave. 
> 
> In this chapter, we are going to see depression, mixed with both pain and guilt. We'll see Jon try to handle his emotions, not just at the loss of his child but everything else leading up to this. Spoiler... it is not going well. 
> 
> Neither of my parents dealt with their losses in this way. They both turned to prayer and each other, found distraction in other things, be it my grandmother (which my mom takes care of) or my brother and I (when we were younger). And maybe there were other things that helped that I am unaware of given the fact that I isolated myself when the losses occurred and I tried not to get too close to my parents during the time following the miscarriages. 
> 
> However, when what happened with my brother occurred, I did more than once go out to drink to the point of passing out. It was a way to numb myself, leave the house and all the emotions that were going on there, forget for a few hours everything that was going on, and to vent out to whoever I happened to be with at the time. It was not a good coping mechanism looking back at it. But it was all I thought I could do at the time, especially when I felt I had no one to turn to. Thankfully I turned to other avenues to deal with emotion, writing stories being one of them. (the issues with my brother coincided with the time GOT S8 occurred and my earliest stories began during that period) 
> 
> Thank you all once more for reading this and for the support you all have given me.

She was right. The pain does not go away.

In the days following his “return" he tried to rid himself of the pain any way he could. Yet he found that nothing worked.

He destroyed anything in his path when his anger took control.

He fought anyone who dared to spar with him, having no mercy against the poor fool who stepped forward.

He burned miles and miles of coastline water on top of Rhaegal when being on the island became too much.

And when all that failed, he drank himself to oblivion.

But that was somehow worse. Oblivion brought forth dreams.

Those were filled with blood, poison, tears and a tiny body resting in his arms. Those slowly transformed to something perhaps worse. He would see a lonely child on the cliffs of Dragonstone. Dark curls, violet eyes, everything he assumed their son would have been. But instead of smiles and happiness, his son would only glare at him, tears running down his small cheeks. And without fail, the boy would always ask him why he did not want him and why he had failed to protect him.

At this point, he was convinced nothing could ever remove the immense pain he felt whenever the dark curls that crowned his son’s head come to mind. If anything the possibility of going mad in grief seems more probable.

And now the pounding in his head joined the ever-present stabbing in his heart.

He attempts to rise, the light entering the room causing him to groan and the room seeming to spin when he manages to open his eyes.

“Good, you are awake,” he hears a voice say as he sits up and attempts to ground himself by placing both hands on the mattress. He looks over towards the upturned table and sees a man sitting on a chair.

“Davos?” he asks, blinking in an attempt to clear his blurred vision.

“Aye. Good to have you awake,” his advisor says, disappointment and pity on his face.

“What time…” he tries to ask.

“Almost midday. Are you planning to once again drink yourself to oblivion or will something productive occur?” the smuggler asks.

He feels his anger rise at the man’s disapproval.

“Do not give me that look lad. For nearly a fortnight you have been drinking to unconsciousness and not once have I said a word knowing full well that you are grieving. But sI would rather be damned to the Seventh Hell than to let this continue and let you go to your grave,” Davos says standing and giving him a cup of water.

“The seventh hell is where I deserve to go,” he mumbles as he drinks the water.

The smuggler sighs.

“Aye, it might feel that way. It might always feel that way when one loses a son,” Davos says a faraway look in his eyes. “But we must keep going, atone for our mistakes, and try to make our pain and that of the person we love at the very least bearable.”

There is a moment he takes to look at Davos and he recognizes the same look on the man’s face as the one he has seen in his reflection these past few days.

“Davos… did you lose a child?” he asks the man and he answers with a nod.

“I lost him during the Battle of Blackwater Bay,” the man answers. “His mother had begged me not to take him to war but I did not listen. I saw him being blown apart by wildfire and I was helpless to stop it.”

Davos chokes up and he does as well.

“The Queen… Daenerys she… she begged me not to tell Sansa the truth… she was afraid… she knew what was at risk… and I didn’t listen,” tears begin to fill his eyes, refusing to look at Davos from pure shame. “She begged me… she had never begged for anything… and Sansa betrayed me… told Tyrion and they… they poisoned her…”

He feels himself falling into the darkness, the need for a drink creeping up on him just to numb himself. But a hand stops him from sinking deeper.

“You made a mistake. You trusted someone you should not have, just as I trusted Stannis. We cannot turn back time, we cannot undo what has been done. I could not give our son back to my wife and you cannot give the queen back yours. You just have to learn to move on together,” the man says.

“I am not sure we can,” he admits a knot in his throat and his heart clenching at voicing this fear.

“Do you love her?”

“Aye, I love her,” he answers and realizes it is the first time he has said that out loud.

_Did I ever say it to her?_

He cannot remember and that only adds to the pain.

“But it does not matter, she hates me. Blames me for everything,” he says with resignation trying not to think.

“She is hurting, she does not…”

“She hates me Davos!” he yells, refusing to hear otherwise. “Not only am I the reason our son is dead, but I also rejected her! I made her believe that I did not love her! I let everyone up North treat her and her people like shit after she saved my life and lost a dragon doing so! I have been such a horrible person that she could not trust me with the news that she was carrying our child!”

He takes shallow breaths, his tears falling down his face.

“I am cursed Davos, I must be. To cause so much death so much suffering…”

_His mother…_

_His father…_

_His uncles…_

_His siblings…_

_Ygritte…_

_The wildlings…_

_Viserion…_

_Daeron…_

_All dead because of me._

And as all those people run through his mind, he suddenly becomes unable to breathe. He gasps for breath, trying desperately to get air and fight the growing knot in his stomach but is ultimately unable to do so. He heaves onto the floor, expelling whatever remained in his stomach, and even once empty he is unable to stop.

“Breathe Jon, deep breaths lad,” Davos says rubbing his back.

He sobs and he feels Davos embrace him in a way he assumes a father holds their son. Lord Stark had never done this to him, if anything the only person he can remember feeling this type of comfort and affection from had been Dany.

_Dany…his Dany…_

He sobs harder still, knowing he does not want to lose her. He loves her too much to lose her. But with his action then and now, he may have lost her for good.

And he is not sure he can live with that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Thank you all for the support you gave that last chapter and for all the comments. I have been doing a chapter on one of my other stories and then another on this story, however, the inspiration for this chapter was too strong to ignore. 
> 
> This chapter will be different than the others. We will get the first glimpse into Dany's mind and get some plot progression if you could call it that. I have always struggled to write in Dany's POV, finding it much easier to write in Jon's, so this chapter might be a bit rougher, less good. But I thought it necessary to see how she is handling everything. 
> 
> From a woman's perspective, it is harder for me to write about the miscarriage for I stayed closer to my dad when they occurred and made sure to stay clear from my mom in order to emotionally distance/protect myself. It is also a fear I have that I may one day go through one in a similar way my mother had and fearing what that may truly be like. 
> 
> I hope I did this justice.

Cold.

The land is cold, the water is cold, the wind, the people….

Since she arrived in Westeros she has felt nothing but cold.

Well, that is not exactly true.

There was a moon or two where she felt warmth. A warmth that came with love, with the feeling of belonging, that came from _Him_. A warmth that did not belong to the Dragon Queen but Dany.

To him, he had only been Dany, a person she had not been since her brother sold her. If she is being honest not since Viserys sold their mother's crown, the day she lost any true semblance of a caring brother.

For so long she needed to be the Dragon Queen just to survive, to protect herself and those around her. To have some connection to the family she lost and attempt to find a home. Yet _he_ had managed to get through her façade, to bring Dany back to life, to make her believe that maybe she did not need to be the Dragon Queen to obtain what she truly wanted.

And when she had discovered that the impossible had occurred, that the womb she had been sure was cursed had quickened with his seed, her heart swelled both in joy and in fear. She could not lose another child, she was sure she could not handle it.

She had every intention to share this amazing news with _him,_ to possibly see the same joy she felt reflected in his grey eyes. But then he began to ignore her and no matter how much she attempted to get close to him, to share a moment, he avoided her. It happened for more than a moon and it was not until the night before the battle she once again attempted to tell _him._ And for a moment, as he accepted her presence and her touch she believed she was going to be able to share the news, to give him another reason to fight for that night _._ But instead of sharing her news, he shared his own.

_He_ was not Jon Snow. He was Aegon Targaryen, son of her brother Rhaegar and his wife Lyanna Stark, her nephew.

Her walls had immediately risen, her protection against things that may hurt her, and instead of being Dany, she had turned back into Dragon Queen. The front being the Iron Throne.

And yet after the battle, Dany returned. Only to be rejected by _him_ once again. Instead of celebrating their survival and coming together, they drifted more apart and the cold began to surround her.

Regardless, she still felt warmth, coming from the most precious thing to her in the world.

She can still recall the small flutters that slowly began to turn to kicks. The swell of her abdomen as weeks began to pass and the harder it became to conceal it. The growing hope that maybe she would no longer be alone, that if _he_ could no longer be at her side at least she would have some part of the man she had loved, even if perhaps he had not loved her in return.

She would speak to him nearly every day, saying sweet nothings and telling him how much she loved him, how eager she was to hold him, to have him, and give him everything she lacked growing up.

Perhaps that had been her folly, hoping for something that would never be. 

She does not remember delivering Rhaego, but she remembers every detail of losing this son. She remembers the pain, the desperate want to stop her own body from expelling her child, and the complete impotence to do so. The tears, the screams, sweet Missandei holding her hand, all the while yearning for _him_ to be there.

When her child left her body, so did the warmth and whatever remained of Dany died with him.

Now the only thing the Dragon Queen feels is cold.

Cold.

It is so cold.

Now there is only one thing left for the Dragon Queen to do…

“You asked for me, your Grace?” she hears Missandei ask when she enters the room. 

“Call a meeting. We will be planning our attack on King’s Landing,” she says in a hardly recognizable voice.

“But Your Grace, it has only been…” the woman from Naath attempts to argue.

“It does not matter. The only thing that matters now is getting the Iron Throne,” she says. “Now if you could help me change and call for the meeting.”

Missandei nods and chooses a black dress for her to wear.

She hisses in pain and holds back her tears as she touches her sensitive breasts, even more so when Missandei needs to replace the bands wet with milk.

She may have lost her babe, but her body did not seem to recognize the fact that there was no child to feed and continued the process of preparing itself to feed one. 

“I am sorry,” Missandei whispers.

“Just get it done with please,” she answers, through the knot in her throat. 

Her undergarments follow the blood on them less than before but still a reminder of her loss. 

Through it all, her sweet Missandei holds her hand, saying nothing but showing her full support. She has no idea what she would do without her, what might have happened if Euron Greyjoy's attack had succeeded. She would have been completely alone.

And as the final laces of the dress are tied she realizes that the tightness that she had become accustomed to had begun to lessen, the final reminder that her womb was now empty.

Her friend embraces her, somehow knowing how overwhelming her emotions threatened to become.

“You do not need to do this, Daenerys,” her friend whispers.

“I have to, it is the only thing the Dragon Queen has left,” she says within her friend’s embrace.

Silently Missandei braids her hair in a relatively simple braid.

_I am the Dragon Queen. I am the Dragon Queen._

She repeats it over and over in an attempt to find strength in those words. And with her arm interlocked with Missandei’s she makes her way to the war room.

She waits for everyone to be summoned and looks at the object of her conquest, glaring at it, trying to find the drive to be the conquerer she had been in Essos, the liberator, any semblance of that person.

_I am the Dragon Queen. I am the Dragon Queen._

“Your Grace, everyone has been gathered,” she hears Missandei’s voice say, pulling away and out of her mind.

She looks up, looking around the room to see who was left, and is surprised to see _him_ standing there with Ser Davos. He looks just as bad as she assumes she looks. Dark circles are deeply formed under his eyes, his hair disheveled and eyes red and lost. She had heard rumors on how he had destroyed everything in his quarters and of him drinking every night.

_Do not concern yourself with him. It will only lead to more hurt._

“I…” she clears her throat. “I gathered you here to plan our attack on King’s Landing. The armies are in place and ready to seize the city.”

Grey Worm and her Dothraki commanders all voice their opinion and talk about strategy.

“My Queen what about the scorpions and the remaining Ironborn fleet?” Missandei asks.

“I will mount Drogon and burn them,” she answers.

“I will join you on Rhaegal,” a raspy voice says, causing her to look up at him.

“There is no need…”

“There is every need,” he cuts her off. “I will be up there with you.”

She sees some unfamiliar fire in his eyes, a fire she had never seen.

“Very well. But before we leave the island to join the army, there will be an execution.”

No one argues or says a word all silently understanding what needs to be done. As the meeting comes to a close she can see him hang back, seeming to be waiting to be alone with him.

“Dany…”

_It is his fault. It is his fault._

_No, it is not._

She does not like having those two voices arguing in her mind. She does not want to speak with him. She does not want to hear that name. It hurts too much. It is a reminder of what was and what could have been.

“I need to go, Lord Snow,” she says, walking past him and ignoring the grey eyes she had fallen in love with.

_I hate him. I love him._

_He took everything. He gave me what was my everything._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. Thank you so much for your response to this story, it truly keeps me motivated to write. I apologize for taking so much to update but life has been busy and getting to sit down and type took longer than expected.

No one says a word as they make their way down to the shores of the island. Nor do they say a word when the traitors are brought forth, chained and gagged.

It is not until her Unsullied begin to lead Tyrion with Varys that _he_ steps forward.

“Not him,” he says, his voice cold and unfeeling.

“He is just as guilty. It is because of him and your sister that Varys learned the truth, to begin with!” she argues, feeling her anger rise at the denial of justice.

“Aye and believe me Sansa will be dealt with like the traitor and oathbreaker she is!” his voice rises as well before pointing at Tyrion. “I want him to suffer, to lose those he holds dear, to watch as I take his family the same way his actions took mine.”

The pure hatred and rage in his eyes scare her for a moment and a voice she has not heard in years rings through her head.

_“You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you?”_

She shivers at the voice, her inner dragon cowering at the memory, reverting to the scared exiled princess she began her journey as.

But another, perhaps louder and stronger voice, speaks out.

_Viserys was not a dragon. He may be angry but it is against their enemies, not you. He will not hurt you. Not that way. _

“Let me show him the true meaning of fire and blood,” _he_ says, his words igniting her dragon.

“Very well,” she answers, and dangerous smirk forms on his face. Before she can turn from him and back towards Varys, a pain causes her to grimace and makes him hold onto her.

“Dany?”

“I am fine my lord. It is residual pain from…” her voice unintentionally breaks and she sees her pain reflected in his eyes He closes his and the breath he releases trembles. His features reveal pain and sadness.

“Let me end him…”

“No,” she answers firmly. “I made a promise to him. If he betrayed me I would burn him. I need this, I need to watch him become ashes and then nothing,” she tells him as he opens his eyes to look at her again. She pulls away, fighting the voice inside her begging to fall into his embrace and turns to face the guilty parties.

“You two betrayed me. Decided that I was no longer the person you wanted to rule and instead of telling me to my face you went behind my back and tried to get me killed,” her voice catches as she clears her throat and holds back her tears. “you failed, although I would have preferred you to succeed than to know what you took from me.”

They have the gall to look guilty, igniting her anger and pushing down her sorrow.

“I told you what would occur if you betrayed me and although I would like nothing more than to burn you both, Lord Tyrion will stay alive and watch the downfall of his family,” she says, as her Dothraki drag him away and force him to watch.

She feels _him_ walk closer to her and Drogon lowers his head barely above theirs.

“I will not even dignify you with final words, Lord Varys. You took my child from me, an innocent in all these games just to get what you wanted and now you will die for it. I Daenerys Targaryen sentence you to die,” she sees the pure panic in the eunuch's eyes right before she gives the order. “Dracarys.”

She wants to feel something as she watches the man burn.

Some relief, some satisfaction, some peace, some happiness…

Yet she feels nothing.

_More. Burn more. Burn it all._

“No!”

“My Queen?” she hears his voice ask and she realizes she must have said it out loud.

She steps away from him, needing to have distance between them. She looks at everyone else there.

“Ready yourselves, we leave at dawn,” she announces, before walking to Missandie and linking their arms.

Together they walk back to the castle and her chambers, neither speak ing a word, at least until they arrive at their destination.

“Lord Snow does not look well, my Queen,” Missandei says as she helps unbraid her hair.

“Lord Snow’s well-being is none of my concern Missandei,” she snaps, startling her friend. A stern look takes hold of her friend’s face as she stops what she is doing.

“With all due respect, Daenerys, we both know that is not true,” Missandei says. “You care, you would not have done all you have if you did not.”

“That was before…”

“I watched him that day Daenerys. I saw him hold you, I saw him sob for your child, I saw he left Varys when he got ahold of him and I saw his quarters afterward. He is suffering just as much as you are,” Missandei tells her.

“It might be the guilt of what he did,” she says.

“Do you truly blame him? Truly?”

Does she? She wants to answer yes that everything was his fault for telling his sister the truth. But can she truly fault him?

Yes.

No.

“I do not know,” she answers barely above a whisper.

Missandei walks around, stands in front of her, and grabs her hands.

“Talk with him Daenerys. I may be your friend but he is the only one that can truly understand your loss. He is the man you love and the father of the child you lost,” her dear friend says softly causing her to sob and fall into her warm embrace.

They break apart by a frantic knocking on her door and she does her best to compose herself as Missandei goes to open the door. She hears frantic whispers before a voice addresses her.

“Your Grace,” the voice calls out and she turns to find a frantic looking Davos Seaworth at her door.

“Ser Davos? What are you doing here?” she asks, a sinking feeling beginning to settle in her stomach.

“Your Grace. I cannot find Jon and I fear what he might do right now,” the man says.

“Do you fear he may harm someone, Ser?” she asks.

“I fear he might harm himself or worse,” Davos answers.

She is terrified.

Yes, she is angry at him. Yes, she does not wish to see or speak to him at the moment or maybe ever. But the idea of him taking his life, of him no longer living crushes her.

“We need to find him.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello every one, here is another short chapter in this story. Thank you all for your comments and your support of this fic. 
> 
> In this chapter, we will still see things from Dany's point of view and in the next chapter, the attack of King's Landing will be in Jon's. We will see some conversation between the two, both in possibly the lowest points they can be and though it may seem like progress, they are nowhere near alright. It will take a while and many deeper conversations for them to rebuild their relationship but this is at least a step in the right direction. 
> 
> Warning: There are suicidal thoughts appearing in this chapter.

She expects the search for _him_ would be a long one, especially given that Ser Davos had been unsuccessful thus far. However, a distressed roar informs her exactly where he is.

But that knowledge brought no relief.

From where she stands she can see him sitting on the very edge of the cliffs where the dragons tend to rest. She knows how precarious those edges are how a simple movement can cause part of the ground to collapse. But what terrifies her the most is that were he to fall there would be no time for Rhaegal to rescue him.

She approaches him alone, having dismissed her guards and informed Davos of her discovery. Both dragons coo in concern, Rhaegal desperately demanding she do something.

“J…Jon,” she calls out gently, trying to avoid startling him.

He does not move, does not respond, it is as if she had not spoken at all.

“Jon!” she calls out carefully approaching him.

“Don’t!” he barks, making her freeze mid-step. “It is not safe.”

“A good reason you should not be out there either, Lord Snow,” she bites back.

He gives no response, ignoring her presence once again. Just from pure spite, she once again approaches him and this time she does get a reaction.

“Seven Hells Daenerys!” he shouts, startling her. “Gods! Just… please I…” she watches as he struggles with words, hand desperately raking through his hair. “I cannot have anything more happen to you, I could not live with myself! I barely am as it is!”

She can hear the pleading in his voice and stops her steps towards him.

“Lord Snow… Jon, please get away from there,” she asks him.

There is a moment of silence where she believes he may be once again ignoring her but then he speaks.

“I see him. Every night I see him sit here. Dark curls, violet eyes, looking so much like you and me,” he says his voice breaking. “Every night he asks me the same questions ‘why did you not want me? Why did you not protect me?’”

She feels her eyes fill with tears as she understands who he is referring to and her heart clenches as the grief and agony in his voice.

“And every night I am incapable of answering him. No matter how much I want to shout, to scream, to tell him how much I wanted him, how much I loved him, how sorry I am to have failed him and you, I can never say a word,” he gives a sad laugh. “I become a mute, a sad pathetic mute just as I have been since we went North. A useless craven just as everyone has said my entire life.”

She struggles to find what to say, her tears falling down her cheeks.

“Jon..” she sobs.

“I want to join him. Just slide off this edge and end it all,” he confesses causes her to freeze. “Even though I know nothing comes after this, it would be easier to just…”

She sits down on the grass, wiping her tears feverously, trying to think of a way to talk him off the edge, to get him back to safety…. Back to her.

“Jon. Look at me, Jon,” she asks and he shakes his head. “Please, Jon. Please turn around and look at me.”

He still refuses.

“I… I know what you are feeling. I have felt it every day since I…. since we lost him. And every day I wish that poison had taken me as well so I would not have this agonizing pain in my chest,” she allows herself to admit.

“I lost a son before. And I climbed into a burning pyre to die with his father. But instead of death I was given three dragons, three new sons I truly believed would be the only children I would ever have,” she says, her eyes looking far away towards the East. “I lost another son beyond the wall and the spear that killed him might as well have pierced my own heart with the agony I felt.”

She raises her hand to land upon her heart, feeling it clench at the memory of her gentlest son screeching as he fell out of the sky and into the frozen lake.

“Bu his loss gave me you,” she acknowledges and when she turns to look at him once more she finds him staring at her, his eyes glistening with tear and his face streaked with trails.

“You gave me joy and happiness those weeks on the boat. You gave me hope and you gave me him. You gave me Daeron.”

She realizes that she is saying her son’s name for the first time since she lost him.

“I loved him, Jon. I loved him from the moment I knew he was real. I loved every movement, every tumble, every little kick I felt within me. I loved him because he was ours. And now I feel the emptiness I….”

All at once, her vision blurs and all the loneliness, despair, and loss she had hidden escape the wall she had kept them behind and burst forth overwhelming and drowning her. She physically attempts to keep herself together while her mind, heart, and soul fall apart.

Breathing becomes difficult, the final remanents of sanity she had managed to maintain begin to slip from her fingers and she is ready to allow herself to slip into the darkness.

Suddenly a pair of arms wrap around her and somehow hold her together for a while longer.

“Breathe, Dany. I need you to breathe love,” a voice cuts through the darkness.

_Love._

Such a simple word.

Such a powerful word.

Such an ambiguous word.

A word she suspected he did not mean.

Yet somehow that word alone begins to pull her back from the edge.

“That is it. Breathe Dany,” the voice whispers. “Come back to me, love.”

There is that word again. _Love._

She has had so little of it in her life and what she has had has been snatched away leaving her heart mangled.

“I… I have no love…” she sobs and the arms tighten around her.

“You have it. You have mine,” the voice tells her. “I know I have done a shit job showing it but I love you Dany. And you’ll have my love till the end of my days.”

The darkness recedes at his words and her entire being pleads with her to believe him.

For once she listens.

“Jon, they… they took our babe.”

She feels his lips against her forehand.

“I know and I will make them pay,” he vows.

“I…I cannot lose anymore…” she says. “Drogon, Rhaegal, Misandei, Greyworm… they are all I have left.”

“You have me Dany, do not forget that,” he says picking up on her omission. 

“You left me before, you wanted to leave me just a few minutes ago…”

“Desperation, love. There is so much pain and guilt in me that I…” his voice fades and she looks up to find a truly broken man.

She sits up, gently caressing his face, running the pad of her thumbs under his exhausted eyes. A shudder rakes his body at her touch, his eyes closing and tears falling from the corners of them.

“I’m sorry. I am so so sorry, Dany,” he whimpers.

“Sshhh. I know… I know,” she says her voice trembling. “We… we have many things to talk about but… but not yet.”

He opens his eyes and looks directly into hers.

“We will truly speak after the battle, alright?”

And all he does is a nod in agreement.

They return to the castle, neither one saying another word. Both simply finding comfort and peace in each other's presence and waiting for dawn to arrive.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So usually I write a chapter of my other stories and then return to this story in between. However, I had a lot of inspiration flowing and I decided to write this chapter in Jon's POV. 
> 
> We are finally going into the attack of Kingslanding. 
> 
> I have been watching Wandavision and the show is doing an amazing job showing how much loss on top of loss, trauma after trauma can lead a relatively good character, good person, to snap and lead us to understand and sympathize with the person even when we know they are doing wrong. (I may have also ranted about Dany not receiving the same understanding in season 8 from people but that is something for another time). 
> 
> In this story we have seen that neither one of our protagonists are well, they have suffered an indescribable loss when they lost their child. Their lives have been trauma after trauma, loss after loss, betrayal after betrayal and neither of them has dealt with it. Instead, they have pushed their feelings down, never looking back or trying to overcome them, just ignoring them. Here, at least with one of the characters, it has come to the breaking point. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading and your comments they truly do help me continue on writing.

_“Jon…”_

_“It is time to go imp,” he tells the traitor as he waits by the cell door for the two Unsullied soldiers to drag him out._

_“Jon please listen…” the Lannister’s voice pleads as he walks in front of him, leading the way to the boat that will bring him to the mainland. “Jon!”_

_“Enough!” he yells, stopping his stride and turning around to glare at the imp. “You do not get to say another word! You have said enough and have caused enough trouble with that mouth of yours that if I hear one more word, I will rip your tongue out with my bare hands!”_

_He turns preparing to continue their trek when the last words he expected to come out of the traitor._

_“Cersei is with child!”_

_He freezes, these words filling his veins with ice._

_“W…What?” he manages to ask._

_“Cersei. She is carrying a child,” Tyrion is quick to repeat._

_“How do you know?” he asks._

_“She told me, in Kingslanding and Jaime confirmed it at Winterfell,” the imp explains, and he has to look away._

_Cersei Lannister is with child. The Mad Lannister Queen and the Kingslayer were expecting a child._

_A child that he and Dany were denied._

_A child that was ripped viciously from his mother’s womb because of the actions of a Lannister, a spider, and the Starks._

_“Is that why you betrayed her? Why you kept making sure she lost more and more?” he asks._

_“Cersei she… she is my family, no matter how horrible she is,” the imp answers and he feels his fists clenching in anger. “Please, Jon. My niece or nephew is an innocent, listen for the bells, they will mean Cersei has surrendered,” he continues to speak._

_He smiles at the traitor and gods know what he must have looked like for the Lannister to take a step back in fear._

_“My child was innocent,” he reminds the half-man. “Yet you and Varys deemed it necessary to get rid of him and his mother.”_

_“We did not know,” the imp reiterates but he ignores him._

_“Perhaps, Lord Tyrion, if you watch as I rip that child from your sister’s womb, listen to her screams and feel her blood seep through your clothing perhaps you will feel a fraction of pain the Queen and I felt.”_

_The blood drains from the Lannister’s face as he falls to his knees._

_“Jon…”_

_“Jon is dead. He died with his son,” he tells him. “You, Varys, and Sansa wanted a dragon, now watch as that dragon and his Queen rid the world of what you hold dear with Fire and Blood.”_

_The Lannister begins to scream, and he orders the Unsullied to gag him, which they thankfully do…._

“Jon?” a voice calls out, taking him out of the memory of his meeting with the Lannister imp.

He turns his head and sees his Queen fully dressed in armor, looking every bit like the Dragon Warrior Queens of legend. As she steps closer to him, he can better see how loose the armor is around her abdomen. His heart clenches as he realizes this armor had been designed to accommodate her growing abdomen.

She must notice the way he stares at it for she too looks down and her fingers barely graze the area.

“I… I had it made… I did not want to risk… I never had it readjusted.”

At the slight catch in her voice, he steps towards her, placing his hands on her hips.

“You look like Visenya reborn,” he tells her, and a slight blush forms on her porcelain cheeks. “You would make our ancestors proud.”

She looks up at him, their eyes locking with each other.

“You… you called them our ancestors,” she whispers.

“Aye, because they are ours,” he confirms before taking a deep breath, “I am a Targaryen, just like you are, like my father was and just like he was.”

She shudders at the reminder of their child, her hands moving to rest on her abdomen. 

“He… he may not be there anymore, but this armor is protecting someone equally important. I need you to stay safe, to fly high, fast and true, never hesitate or take unnecessary risks,” he tells her.

Her hands move to his chest where his regular gorget is missing. Her eyes asking the question without saying a word.

“I do not want to wear it. It is not my sigil,” he answers, and she nods in understanding.

“I wish you had told me, so I could have had something made for you,” she says. “You need to be protected too.”

He has the urge to argue and tell her he is not as important as she is but knows how well that would go…

“Do you truly believe the bells ringing mean surrender?” she asks.

He had told her about Tyrion’s comments on the bells, knowing it was something she needed to know. The rest of the conversation however was something he had considered withholding, believing the information of Cersei’s condition would only break her further. But in the end, he told her everything, holding her tightly as he revealed the information, knowing that he was hurting her but also protecting the progress they had begun to make the night before.

“Davos said they rang the bells when Stannis attacked Kingslanding before they wildfire was lit aflame in Blackwater Bay,” he tells her.

“Do you believe she would do the same in the city?” she asks.

“I do,” he answers truthfully.

“Then we must take care not to let our guards down and be aware of any traps she may have set,” she tells him, and he nods in agreement.

She looks to the sky, realizing that the sun was now at its highest point, ending their time together and marking the beginning of their attack. She looks back down to look at him once again.

“Please stay safe. Do not be the hero, I do not need another…”

He kisses her forehead.

“I promise to try my best to stay safe,” he vows. “I will do everything thing I can to come back to you, love.”

They say no more as he helps her climb onto Drogon. She tries to hide her grimace of pain the best she can but he knows how painful and uncomfortable this ride will be for her. He gives her hand a final squeeze before climbing off Drogon and going to Rhaegal to climb onto his mount. Together they both take flight and head towards Kingslanding.

She had told him this had been the tactic their ancestors had used, the sun blinding the enemy and leaving them unable to react in time.

And it worked just as well now as it did then.

The dragons make quick work of the Ironborn fleet and the weapons that lined the walls of the city. They each take out a gate and part of the Golden Company, allowing their armies to storm the capital.

It was almost too easy to take the capital. Not for the first time does he think that he should have allowed Dany to attack the capital before heading North. She would have lost so much less had she done what she wanted instead of listening to him.

He shakes those thoughts from his head for the moment, watching from on top of the walls as the men make their way through the streets. Unsullied, Dothraki and Northern men working once together to defeat the final enemy.

For the Queen, for their families, for the North, for revenge.

He looks down at the streets and sees a mother with her babe.

_A babe…_

**The bells suddenly begin to ring loudly through the city.**

_Bells._

He remembers the last time he heard bells ring like this. It was the day Rickon was born. The bells rang all day announcing and celebrating the birth of a new babe. He remembers the bells for Bran, for Arya, even for Sansa. The bells rang for every Stark child at Winterfell.

But not for him. Never for him.

Ned Stark and his best friend Robert Baratheon had taken that from him when they defeated his father at the Trident. Tywin Lannister had finished it off by killing his true siblings and their mother. A Stark, A Baratheon, and a Lannister had taken everything from him before he even entered the world. He should have been a prince, his birth celebrated with bells not just in Kingslanding but throughout the realm.

Instead, he was raised a bastard, shunned by all, no name day ever celebrated, wished dead by more than one, and sent to rot at the Wall.

**The bells keep ringing, and a babe starts crying.**

_A babe…_

No bells will ever ring for his son. He will never hear him cry, never see him walk, never feel his embrace, or see him become a man he could be proud of.

Lannisters and Starks had once again taken everything from him.

**The bells continue to ring…**

Rage uncontrolled rage flows through him, burning and consuming him. He looks at the Red Keep where an undesiring Lannister carries a child that his Queen deserved but was denied.

**The bells ring….**

Rhaegal roars, his anger becoming the dragon’s own.

**The bells ring…**

He grabs on to the closest spikes.

**The bells ring…**

“They deserve to burn. It all needs to burn.”

**The bells ring…**

He faintly hears his name desperately being called. A dragon’s roar joining the voice attempting to get his attention, but he is too far gone.

**The bells ring and a babe cries.**

Something snaps. The world goes silent. Every slight, every loss, every tear, every denial, every betrayal, all become one. He takes to the skies and only one word fills his mind, his heart, his soul, and escapes his lips.

“Dracarys.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! So sorry for taking so long to update but with the lovely snowmageddon that happened here in Texas and the subsequent death of my first dog Chiquis (hence my name) during it all motivation and inspiration left. I'm trying to get into writing again even got a new notebook to write in while I'm at work. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading this and all my stories, I greatly appreciate it.

She walks through the wreckage of Kings Landing, her men still clearing the debris and looking for survivors.

She knew as soon as the bells rang and she turned towards Jon that he was not well, neither of them was. Something had snapped in him and she had been unwilling to stop him. So, after her initial attempt to reach him, she tried no more. She watched him take off on Rhaegal and allowed him to burn it all.

His pain, their pain, was all released with the dragon fire that was unleased.

The destruction she now walked through however was not brought forth by Jon, at least not entirely. Instead, it came at the hands of two mad monarchs, her father who created it and Cersei Lannister who used it.

Wildfire.

It spread unnaturally, it was uncontrollable and unstoppable. She barely had time to order her men to evacuate the city and get themselves to safety before the chaos took hold. The northern men however refused to follow her orders, deciding instead to ignore her and pillage the city, killing and raping at their will all while the city exploded around them.

They had fallen into Cersei’s trap, just as they had feared and many people had been lost. The Lannister Queen had not cared who died at her hands as long as she won, innocents, Dothraki, Unsullied, Northern men it did not matter.

Thankfully it began to snow after most of the city was in flames and that had allowed the rescue efforts to begin. Through it all, however, she could only think about Jon.

“What did you do to him?” she hears a voice ask, drawing her out of her thoughts.

She turns to see Arya Stark, bloodied and covered in ash and soot, glaring at her.

“Lady Arya?” she questions, still in disbelief at seeing her here. Her men take a step closer to her and Drogon lands on a nearby rooftop, most likely viewing the young Stark as a threat.

“I will not ask again. What did you do to my brother?” Arya asks, her hand resting on the pommel of her dagger.

She feels her anger rising at the obvious threat being made by the Stark.

“I did nothing,” she answers firmly, never cowering or showing intimidation.

“You must have!” the girl exclaims. “You must have done something to him because my brother is good. He is not evil like you, he would never burn people alive!”

She clenches her fists at the accusation, all her hatred towards the northerners and Sansa coming to the forefront once again.

“Watch how you speak Lady Stark,” she says, between clenched teeth, Drogon roaring in a warning. “Lest you forget, I am the Queen and Jon is my blood.”

“He is not! He is a Stark, an honorable Northern man!”

He can not hold back her laugh, her sarcastic laugh of complete disbelief of how ignorant this girl is.

“Honor? The Northern men? Do not make me laugh,” she says, glaring at the girl. “Your people are full of oathbreakers, of rapers and murders, of men yearning for bloodshed, of traitors and those willing to kill anyone to get what they want. Your sister is the worst of them all.”

The girl steps towards her, moving to unsheathed her blade but a voice causes her to freeze.

“Step away from her, Arya,” the cold voice orders, as Jon approaches from behind a crumbling home. He walks towards them, his hand unclenching her hand and interlacing their fingers, no longer seeming to care what his sibling thought.

“Jon…” Arya says softer than before.

“What are you doing here?” Jon asks, his voice still cold and almost void of emotions.

“I… I came to kill Cersei, but your Queen’s men beat me to her, when the chaos started,” Arya answers turning to glare at her.

She feels Jon squeeze her hand, making her look away from the Stark and to the pure rage on his face instead.

“She is not ‘my’ Queen, Arya. She is our Queen. She is the Queen and you and every Northerner better start showing her the respect she has earned and rightfully deserves,” Jon growls.

“The North will never…”

“The North will do as I say!” he shouts, clutching even more at her hand. “I was who they named their King! I am the Warden of the North. The North will do as it has always done and obey the ruler of Winterfell!”

“Sansa…”

“Sansa can burn in the seven hells!”

Arya recoils at Jon’s exclamation.

“How can you say that? She is our sister,” Arya attempts to remind Jon, but surprising even her, Jon refuses to accept that.

“That bitch is no kin of mine!” he yells. “I assure you next time I see her I will have Ghost and Rhaegal tear her apart bit by bit and keep her in complete agony and consciousness as they feast on her flesh. I will make sure that the sight is so gruesome and horrifying that never again will anyone doubt the power of the crown or the saying cursed is the oathbreaker and kinslayer!”

This more than anything seems to truly startle and perhaps even frighten the young Stark. She recoils back staring in confusion, shock, and horror at Jon and she needs to recover from what he said.

“What… how…. No… No! This is not you Jon! It is her! It must be! We are a pack, we have always been a pack! She is the problem she is making you be something you are not!” Arya exclaims, in what appears to be an attempt to reason with him.

“She has done nothing! You, Sansa, and the entire North truly believe me so weakminded, so idiotic that there cannot be another option but she seduced poor Ned Stark’s bastard!” he responds with anger and mock. “In my entire life, my entire existence, she is the only one never to look down on me, the only person to treat me as an equal, to treat me with respect. She has been the only person in my life to love me and never use me for gain!”

“She has!” Arya interrupts.

“She has not! I bent the knee after she had already saved my life, pledged her forces to fight the dead, and lost a dragon in an asinine plan to gain Cersei’s forces for the battle!”

By the look on the Stark’s face, she knows this is the first time she has heard this but she presses on.

“I told you that we needed her and her forces and that we were grateful. But there was no need for you to give her the North. To give her a way to use you…”

“The only one using me has been the oathbreaker and kinslayer you call a sister,” Jon cuts her off, his voice dropping and seeping with pain and anger.

“She is not an oathbreaker or a kinslayer no matter what you have been told,” Arya responds, turning to once again glare at her.

“Is she not? I made you both swear something to me in the Godswood before we marched south. So unless you are going to confess to telling Tyrion Lannister and thus Varys, she broke a sacred vow,” he goads.

“She…she must have thought it was for the best,” Arya tries to justify, but even she can tell the Stark is struggling.

These words however are the wrong ones to say to Jon. She sees it immediately, another snap, flames burning in his eyes. He must know it as well for he guides her behind him and for the first time, lets go of her hand.

“For the best… for the best!” he snaps, stalking closer and closer to the Stark. “Was Rickon dying at Ramsay’s hand for the best? Was me nearly being killed by the Bolton forces because she refused to tell me about the Knights of the Vale for the best? Was my son, an innocent child being torn from his mother’s womb by poison brought upon by your sister’s broken oath for the best?”

“S…son?” Arya stutters, visibly shaken by Jon’s revelations.

Jon grabs onto Arya, his hand trembling pure fury, as he lifts her to eye level.

“Aye. A son, my son. One torn away from me and his mother before he even had the chance to live, all because of Sansa. Now tell me,” his voice suddenly turns cold. “You baked the Frey’s into pies and fed them to their father before killing the rest because you saw what they did to Robb, your mother, his wife, and unborn babe. What should I be allowed to do to those who sought to kill the woman I love, usurp her throne, and murdered my child?”

Arya does not answer, everything becoming completely silent. She catches a glimpse of Ser Davos arriving on the scene, looking just as frightened as he did when Jon first took off. She decides that she needs to end this, no matter how much relief he may be feeling.

“Jon,” she says softly, slowly walking towards him. “Put her down, Jon.”

“No,” he growls, tightening his hold on Arya. “The Starks need to pay. They have taken everything from me…”

“Not everything. You still have Ghost and Rhaegal,” she pauses gently putting her hand on his shoulder. “You still have me.”

His entire body seems to relax as he places Arya back on the ground.

“Leave Arya,” Jon says, stepping back towards her.

“I will not let you hurt Sansa,” Arya says.

“It is not up to you,” Jon answers as he turns to lead them away.

Then Arya Stark makes a mistake.

She sees it before everyone else, the slight step forward and the hand movement towards her blade. With all her strength she shoves Jon away just as Arya makes her move.

“Dracarys!” she manages to yell just as the blade digs into her.

The sharp pain is soon replaced with warmth as she and Arya are engulfed in Drogon’s flames. For a brief moment, she manages to see a look of horror and agony on the young Stark’s face before she turns to ash. Blood continues to drip out of her as she lowers herself to the ground regretting her earlier decision to remove her armor. Drogon’s flames cease, but around her flames continue to burn.

“Dany!” she hears his voice call out as she tries to keep consciousness but soon instead of his calls and her dragons’ screams she hears a child’s laughter and brown curls with violet eyes are the last things she sees before it goes black.


End file.
